


The Lipton Household

by ama



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Asexual Character, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Other, Polyamory, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and oneshots featuring the happy household of Lipton, Lipton, and Speirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 21st 1953

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canadasuperhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadasuperhero/gifts).



> These little fics are going to be in non-chronological order and I'm not sure how regularly I can update, but I can promise each chapter will be chock full of domestic OT3 goodness.

“Annie, I have terrible, horrible, incredibly distressing news,” Ron said, deadpan, as he fell into a kitchen chair. “You married an idiot.”

“What’s he done now?” she chuckled. “And get your butt over here and help me.”

She tossed a towel at him and he stood, dropping it over his shoulder as he joined her at the sink. There was an enormous pile of dirty dishes, due to the fact that Ron had convinced everyone the night before that their time would be better spent taking the kids to Dairy Queen than cleaning—a decision he resolutely stood by.

“He’s telling _your sons_ about the time he and Henry built a flamethrower.”

“Oh, that,” Annie said with a shrug. “I’m not worried about that.”

“Are you not?”

“No. Bless him, Carwood’s a horrible storyteller when it comes to things like that. The kids adore it when he makes things up, but whenever he talks about something dangerous his voice is so mild that it sounds completely sensible, and they have absolutely no desire to do the same. You’re the one I’m concerned about.”

“ _Me_?” Ron laughed. “I’m washing out a teapot, fifteen minutes ago I was feeding the baby, and an hour before I was fixing the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom. And I have never once built a flamethrower using my mother’s heater. I am the essence of respectability.”

Annie shook her head with a smile and turned, leaning against the sink as she smiled up at him.

“Ron. You’re washing out the teapot because last night you served scotch in it, you half-flooded the bathroom while fixing it, and you were feeding another man's baby. I will concede on the flamethrower, but you make up for it by running off every time there’s a war on!”

Ron’s hands were still sudsy, but he leaned down and dropped a kiss to the tip of Annie’s nose.

“But I always come back.”


	2. September 15th 1945

“Can somebody get that?” Henry hollered down the stairs as the phone rang.

Grace sighed and shook her head.

“Sixteen years I’ve been trying to drum some manners into that boy,” she muttered. “Listen to him shout like that, and with guests in the house.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, Mama, they don’t mind,” Annie said with an easy smile. She leaned down and kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek, and headed towards the door into the hallway. “I’ll get the phone.”

She walked to the phone with quick steps, heart pounding because she had a very good guess who it was from, and answered somewhat breathlessly.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Lipton household?”

“Well, that’s certainly a start,” a soft voice said on the other line. “I was hoping to reach Mrs. Anne Lipton, specifically.”

She pressed a hand to her heart and leaned against the wall as a laugh escaped her mouth.

“Car. Oh good lord it’s so good to hear from you!”

“Hi, Annie,” Carwood said and she could practically _hear_ the smile in his voice. “I’ve missed you, honey.”

“I know the feeling,” she laughed. “When are you coming home?”

There was a pause as the line crackled, and Carwood sighed.

“Actually, Annie, that’s partly why I’m calling. Right now I’m in New York City—our boat got in last night. But, you see, my friend Ron lives in Boston and he… well, he’s going through something and I don’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone right now. So it might take me a few more days to get back or—or I might ask Ron if he’d like to come stay with us for a little while. If you feel comfortable with that.”

“Oh.” Annie pursed her lips for a second, surprised, and quickly started counting up rooms, food, and money in her head. “Well sure, bring him along. It’s your mother’s house and you know she always loves more company—”

“But that’s why I’m asking you. I know Mama would be fine with it; I wasn’t sure _you_ would, and I don’t want you to be upset… it’s been a long, long time since we had any time alone together and this wouldn’t exactly help,” he said with a low chuckle.

“Carwood, between our families and the boarders and the neighbors, I don’t expect we’ll have much time alone anyway,” Annie laughed. “If this man’s a friend of yours then I’m more than happy to meet him. Tell him he can stay as long as he likes.”

“Thank you, Annie,” Carwood said with a sigh of relief. “You’re really an incredible woman, you know that?”

“And you’re a good man,” she said with a smile. “Get home quick, now. Mama’s about to kill your brother.”

Carwood laughed.

“Yeah, I’m not completely surprised by that.”

\---

He looked—different. Annie paused when she saw him, trying to decide if this man who stood so straight and looked so tired really was her husband. There was an unfamiliar scar on his cheek, and he wore his uniform without a hint of self-consciousness or discomfort, even with the gold bar on his cap. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for her, and that was when she managed to shake off her uncertainty. She wove through the people, gaining speed as she went, and made eye contact with her husband mere seconds before she collided against his chest.

“Welcome home,” she whispered. She drew away so she could look up at him, and let out a breathless, watery laugh. “You’re _back_!”

Carwood reached up and gently cupped her cheek. They had never really been one for public displays like that, but she smiled even wider as he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth.

“I’m back,” he said. His eyes darted over her face as he smiled wider and smoothed his hand over her hair. Then he coughed and shifted his weight slightly to the side, and she directed her attention to the man in uniform who stood slightly behind him.

He was handsome, she thought. Dark hair and a strong jaw—and intense pale green eyes that might make another person nervous. Luckily, Annie was not a nervous woman. She hadn’t been before the war, and she certainly wasn’t now. She put on a bright smile.

“Annie, this is Captain Ron Speirs. Ron, my wife Anne.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise, captain,” she said crisply, extending her hand. He shook it and a smile began to play around his lips. “If you were Carwood’s CO, presumably I can thank you for keeping him alive. I appreciate that very much.”

“Actually, it was more the other way around.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me much either,” she chuckled, slipping her arm through her husband’s elbow. She hesitated for half a moment, and then did the same to Speirs. “Now, our home is open to you as long as you’d like. Car, are you ready to go home?”

Carwood beamed.

“Absolutely.”


	3. October 2nd 1946

“Are you in love with my husband?” Annie asked in a pleasant voice.

Carwood stopped in his tracks. It was a cool autumn evening, the baby was happily asleep, and his wife and his best friend were sitting out on the porch. He had thought it would be a nice, peaceful night. He hadn’t expected to hear— _that_. There was a tray in his hands loaded with three coffee cups, and suddenly it began to rattle. He took a deep breath to steady his hands, and leaned against the wall. It wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself firmly. It was just… waiting. And listening.

“Yes,” Ron said, equally calm, after a brief pause.

“Is he in love with you?”

“I’m not sure. I’m sure he’s in love with you, though.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It’s the truth.” There was another pause, and Ron cleared his throat. “Does this make you uncomfortable? Usually when two people are in love with the same man there tends to be some unpleasantness involved.”

“I think in that situation, it usually involves some sort of infidelity,” Annie said thoughtfully. “There hasn’t been any of that… and really, I don’t think Carwood is nearly stupid enough to have an affair under my very roof. Also, a lot of the unpleasantness stems from the two people in question not liking each other, and I like you very much.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Carwood listened for a few more moments. He had very little idea what just happened. His stomach was churning unpleasantly, though he wasn’t quite sure why. They hadn’t—they hadn’t said anything _bad_ , really. Ron hadn’t expressed outrage that his friend turned out to have perverse feelings towards him. Annie hadn’t started sobbing that she hardly knew the man she married. Neither had decried his faithlessness, his utter _stupidity_ in falling in love with two people at once. None of the things he had dreaded, deep in his heart.

At the same time… this was not a normal conversation. He could hardly admit these things to himself, and here were Annie and Ron discussing them like the weather. Was he dreaming?

“I’m not interested in having sex with him either,” Ron said abruptly. “Sex—it doesn’t particularly appeal to me.”

“No? Well, that simplifies things even more. How should we break the news to him, do you think?”

Carwood tipped his head back against the wall and started to laugh, silently. His shoulders shook with mirth, and the coffee cups began to clatter again, but he couldn’t help himself. No, this was not a normal conversation—but he had not fallen in love with normal people.


	4. January 3rd, 1949

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for some discussion of PTSD and a brief Holocaust reference in this chapter

“Car,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Car, wake up.”

“Hm?” he asked sleepily, and Annie tugged on his arm.

“Come over here and listen to this.”

Obeying on instinct, Carwood stood and followed his wife, who was still in her nightgown, over to the wall. He rested the side of his head and realized immediately why she had woken him; Ron was having a nightmare. He couldn’t make out any words, only low, agitated groans and the rustling sound of limbs thrashing against the blankets.

“Normally I’d leave him be,” Annie said worriedly. “But he’s been like that since I went to feed the baby—”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Fifteen minutes at least. Twenty maybe.”

“All right, I’ll go talk to him. You go to bed,” he said, reaching out to rub the top of her shoulder reassuringly. She looked up at him and pursed her lips.

“I’ll put on some cocoa.”

“For pity’s sake, Annie, get the man some coffee,” Carwood called as she left the room, but she shook her head.

“He’ll be up all night. Cocoa.”

Carwood followed her and knocked gently on the door of the guest room. Ron did not wake that easily—of course he didn’t. He opened it and stood in the doorway, eyes drawn immediately to Ron’s restless form turning over in the bed.

“Ron?” he said, softly at first and then more firmly. “Ron? Come on, Ron, wake up. Wake up.”

He remained standing by the door until Ron woke up with a gasp and a knee-jerk reach for the (unloaded) gun by his bedside. Carwood stared down the barrel of the gun for a few long seconds, and then Ron cursed and let it fell. He covered his face with a hand as a shaky sigh burst from his lips.

“Christ. I’m—I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. Annie did.”

“Sorry I woke Annie up.”

“That was the baby.

“Then I guess I’m sorry for jack shit,” he snapped. His hands shook and Carwood sat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on the back of his head. There was a cool sheen of sweat on his skin. Car pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck and remained there, waiting for Ron’s breath to return to its normal pace.

“How’re you doing?” he asked quietly.

Ron shrugged helplessly. He lay down again and rested his head on Carwood’s thigh, his eyes closed.

“It’s not the war,” he admitted hoarsely. “It’s what happened after. The—the camp, and Grant, and Janovec. What was the point of it if that still happened? Were we actually _doing_ anything or just—adding more death?”

Car stroked his hair in silence for a moment, thinking. They didn’t talk about this much during the daytime, nor in such terms. The war lived in nightmares, acknowledged only with silent kisses and gentle touches. Occasionally Car spoke to the other men of Easy about it—the non-commissioned officers, the replacements, the men who looked up to him and relied on his reassurances. Not Ron, who always appeared so sure. Who took great care to appear so.

“We were soldiers,” he said finally. “Not heroes. Some lunatic set the world topsy-turvy and we were just trying to keep our balance. We were trying to stay alive and to go home.”

“I thought that would be enough.”

Carwood couldn’t think of anything to say. They sat there for a few minutes until Annie quietly nudged the door open. She set a steaming cup of cocoa on the bedside table and then, when Ron showed no signs of reaching for it, held it in front of his face. To Carwood’s surprise, Ron sat up and took two careful sips, and then his whole body seemed to flop as he leaned against Car’s shoulder.

“You look tired,” Annie said. “You both do.”

Carwod looked at her and realized suddenly that it was true. He nodded mutely and kissed Ron’s forehead.

“Come to bed, then. Both of you.”

Carwood had spent nights with Ron in the spare room before, but Ron had never joined them in the master bedroom. Now, though, it was clear that that was what Annie expected. Together the three of them went to the master bedroom. Ron took another sip of his cocoa and hesitated when Annie indicated that he should lie in the center of the bed.

“I wouldn’t want to elbow you in my sleep,” he said.

“She kicks sometimes,” Car assured him.

“And he snores.”

Ron smiled weakly and lay down on his side.

“Going to tuck me in?” he asked, yawning.

“In a minute.”

She gestured for Car to join Ron on the bed and he did so, lying on his back as always. Ron kissed him on the shoulder, and there was the creak of springs as Annie lay down on Ron’s other side.

“There’s a lullaby I sing to Jack and Tommy,” she said, echoing Ron’s yawn. “If you need it.”

“I don’t think so.” Ron glanced over his shoulder, hesitated for a brief moment, and then rolled over. His arm draped lightly around Annie’s waist and he breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of her hair. Annie made a content noise and Car stared at them, overwhelmed by the grateful ache in his heart. “I didn't mean to...” Ron whispered suddenly. “What I said earlier—sometimes it is enough.”


End file.
